


Royalty Ride

by Strange and Intoxicating -rsa- (strangeandintoxicating)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, Angst, Anonymous Sex, Borderline dub-con, M/M, Prostitution, Quickies, sex with plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-08
Updated: 2018-10-19
Packaged: 2018-12-25 09:39:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 15,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12033231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeandintoxicating/pseuds/Strange%20and%20Intoxicating%20-rsa-
Summary: (Kink Meme Fill) Noctis somehow finds out that Ignis will occasionally hire prostitutes that look like him. He even has a routine for them: they arrive at the hotel first, on hands and knees (because the face is never right) and ready for him, they can moan but not speak (because the voice is never right). So long as they look enough like Noctis from the back it's ok.He trades places with the next one so he can finally have Ignis fuck him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Kink Meme Prompt: Noctis somehow finds out that Ignis will occasionally hire prostitutes that look like him. He even has a routine for them: they arrive at the hotel first, hands and knees (because the face is never right) and ready for him, they can moan but not speak (because the voice is never right). So long as they look enough like Noctis from the back it's ok.
> 
> He trades places with the next one so he can finally have Ignis fuck him.

"As I promised— double. Just remember, next time he calls you, you call me."

Noctis pressed the envelope into the man's hand, trying to not look too closely at his face. It was unnerving, the way that it was so similar and yet— yeah. No. It was fucking creepy, if Noctis were honest with himself.

Noctis could see it mostly in the body, in the hair, but his eyes were brown and the piercing in his nose was something Noctis definitely didn't have. But everything else was close enough to make Noctis feel a little like he was staring into a distorted mirror. It wasn't perfect, but...

If the man was telling the truth, it wasn't like Iggy was exactly looking at his face, either.

Noctis wasn't sure how that made him feel, but he pushed his feelings into the back of his mind.

"Yes, Your Highness," the man stuttered as he quickly shoved the envelope into his pocket. "And thank you. I'll just—I better. Yeah."

"Yeah, sure."

The man turned, but when his hand hit the doorknob he hesitated. "Just don't look at him. And don't talk. He hates it."

"Okay. Thanks. I wasn't planning on it."

Noctis couldn't believe his own words, his own actions. How the hells was he here in some love hotel? What in the Six drove him to this?

Ignis.

Noctis sighed and reached up to bite his thumb. This had everything to do with Ignis. His ever faithful and supporting Chamberlain...

Noctis wasn't supposed to look into the details of his friends. It wasn't fair, and they deserved some modicum of privacy. But there was something about how tightly-wound Ignis would get, and then he would take a night off and he would come back being so much more relaxed, so much happier. He would even crack a smile and laugh at Noctis's dumb jokes. His dinners would be exceptional. Hells, even the apartment seemed to pick up on those excursions. The floors always seemed shinier and newer, like Ignis used an extra coat of polish.

Of course Ignis was under pressure; they all were. With Noctis's graduation fast approaching and the looming Wall ever above their heads, what else could they do but fear? But they continued forward, and Ignis continued to help Noctis. Ignis always did have his head on straight. But he would go away once in awhile, and when he came back it was like he was a new man.

Noctis should have felt guilty about looking into Ignis's phone history, but now that he knew.... he could completely understand why Ignis would hide this part of himself.

The website was actually hard to find, but Noctis was able to figure it out with a little help from accidentally burning a pot in the kitchen when he was pretending to make dinner. Ignis had rolled up his sleeves and got straight to scrubbing, leaving his unlocked phone right there on the livingroom table.

It was nestled in his phone contacts, and the only reason Noctis knew that it was different was that it was the only name with only a description, rather than a name—Riding Partner.

Ignis didn't _ride_  anything.

There was also a website linked, and it was easy to remember.

Royalty Ride.

Whatever Noctis thought it was went out the window the moment he opened the website He waited until Ignis was out the door to type the name into his moogle browser, and then waited for what popped up.

Hookers. But not any hooker; no. A regular hooker wouldn't have been good enough for Ignis.

Ignis was an incredibly attractive man, something Noctis had known since he hit puberty and realized that Ignis had a way of licking his lips when he was thinking too much about something, or how he would sometimes let his fingers trail over Noctis's skin for just a moment too long. He could get anyone into his bed, man or woman. He didn't need to pay for it, not when Noctis saw the way others looked at _his_  Chamberlain.

Noctis nearly broke his phone when he saw an eerily similar face look back at him through the dim glare of the screen.

There weren't many who touting his likeness around that— _site_ — but enough to set Noctis's teeth on edge. He should have been angry that some guy was using his likeness to get off, that Ignis was using someone else's body that was impersonating him, but...

He wasn't. Not angry, no.

After that, it was figuring out how to do it. How does one successfully get a hooker to trade places?

Well, a lot of money, for starters. And, of course, the threat of absolute destruction hinted at in just the slightest of moves. No one would have dared to think that Noctis was anything less than the perfect young man shown on TV. Even the hooker didn't entirely believe what was happening, but thankfully the Kingsglaive breaking into his apartment to bring him to Noctis had worked perfectly.

And, of course, Nyx was happy to do it. Well... maybe not happy, but he definitely seemed to get some sort of kick out of it.

"My driver will get you home safely."

With that, the man understood he was dismissed and was very quick to take his leave.

The rest was.... well. It was a waiting game.

Noctis peeled off his pants and underwear, leaving them hidden under the bed. They weren't special, but Ignis did his laundry. The last thing he wanted was for Ignis to realize—

Shit. If Ignis realized what they were doing, what _he_  was doing...

There wouldn't be a place on earth safe enough for Noctis to hide.

There should have been some kind of guilt that would stop him from what he was doing, but Noctis swallowed it back as he removed his underwear, folding them into his pants. This had to be ten million kinds of wrong; he was going to fuck his Chamberlain without even letting Ignis know. There had to be some kind of law against it, something else that would have stopped Noctis.

But then he remembered that Ignis was the one sneaking about, paying for hookers who looked like Noctis, and any guilt extinguished itself. He didn't have to feel guilty, not when Ignis was using a piss-poor substitute for him.

It had taken a few hours of mindlessly clicking through photo upon photo to understand exactly what was going through Ignis's mind.

Well, there was no way to know for sure, but Noctis had some idea.

And as he went through those pictures, the pictures of men of varying sizes and shapes, each one looking more or less like him, until he found the _one_.

He knew Ignis well enough to know exactly which man was his regular stand-in. It was the little beauty mark on his cheek, the one that looked so eerily like Noctis's that he wondered it it had been tattooed on in the exact spot as Noctis's. No doubt if Ignis saw it, there would have been something inside that spoke to him.

Ignis always did have an eye for detail.

Noctis allowed himself to shift down onto the bed, trying to not think about what he was doing, what he wanted to do. It was easier that way, to turn off his consciousness and focus on exactly what would happen next. He had come prepared, as much as the hooker told him to, and so Noctis could feel the lube inside him still warm and slick. It had been so weird to feel his own fingers curling inside himself, but he did the best he could.

This was all virgin territory for him.

 _Virgin_. Noctis snorted, trying to keep his hands from shaking. What was he doing? This was a horrible idea. Nothing could possibly go right.

Noctis thought about the kind of lover Ignis would have been, in any other circumstance. It was a game he had played many times when he touched himself in the bathroom or when Ignis had gone home for the night and he was curled safely in his bed. He would focus on the way Ignis would look, how he would smell, what he would taste like on Noctis's tongue.

Noctis imagined it being incredibly romantic, when Ignis would make love to him in his fantasies. There would be champagne and strawberries, some kind of bath where they would kiss and Ignis would gently run his tongue against Noctis's throat down to his nipples. His hand would tease between Noctis's open legs and he would make Noctis beg until he was nothing but a pitiful mess bucking into the warmth of the water.

But those were dreams, and this was reality.

Noctis laid down on his stomach, legs spread open as much as he could comfortably go. He allowed himself to take in deep breaths, calming himself. The only thing left on his body was his plain black t-shirt, a special request from Ignis, according to the hooker. It was to hide his scar, Noctis knew, but the man who tried to wear his face wasn't aware of that.

The lights were low and Ignis wouldn't be expecting Noctis. Just someone who looked like him, who wasn't allowed to speak.

Someone that Ignis could use and then leave.

Caught up in his own thoughts, Noctis barely had time to react when the door beeped and someone came into the room.

"You've been very, very naughty."

Noctis could barely breathe as he heard the words, warm and sinuous from above him. It took every ounce of will not to turn around, to not look up at Ignis. There was something in his voice, something that made the hairs on Noctis's arms stand at attention.

"Never doing your papers, leaving your apartment an utter mess. What will I do with you, Noct?"

 _Noct_.

How long had it been since Ignis called him that?

Noctis shivered as he felt a leather-gloved hand tracing his left ass cheek, a gentle touch that was followed by a stinging slap. It didn't hurt, not really. But whatever it did, it sent a shock through Noctis's body, straight to his cock.

Ignis had _hit_  him.

No, no. Ignis hit a hooker who _looked_  like him.

"Rubbish in your room, again." A light tease to his right cheek before the hand came down.  

"Late to a meeting, again." This times the slap was across both cheeks, making Noctis gasp.

"Skipped class to play videogames with your bloody boyfriend, again."

 _Boyfriend_?

This time there was no smack, but instead fingers. They were inside him, twisting and hot. Leather and the lube Noctis already used stretched him open, making Noctis gasp as he grabbed the bedsheets for purchase.

"You drive me mad, Noct. Utterly mad."

The fingers were harsh, but the mouth that suddenly pressed against the small of his back was anything but. His shirt had ridden up, just enough to leave the small strip of flesh bare. That was okay—as long as he didn't try to push it higher...

But...

That kiss, that soft kiss, held Noctis in place as he heard the tell-tale clicking of a belt coming undone. Ignis wrapped his hands around Noctis's waist, pulling him onto his hands and knees, though he was quick to push down on Noctis's head, making him fall to his elbows instead.

Noctis had to keep himself from screaming out Ignis's name when he felt Ignis press himself inside, the whisper of "Noct. my Noct," nearly making him break.

It wasn't slow. It was fast and hard, a feeling of uncomfortableness met with the realization that this was real, that the bed below him was moving and he could feel Ignis inside of him, whispering his name against the back of his neck.

Noctis should have done a lot of things, but instead he laid there, his breath only punctuated with moans as Ignis used him. One hand pressed hard against his hip while the other reached forward to grab at Noctis's hair. He leaned forward, pressing his nose against Noctis's throat.

"Louder, Noct. Louder."

Noctis could feel the rhythm of Ignis's cock inside him, how his hips hit Noctis's ass, slapping their skin together into a harsh melody. He could feel the gloves on him, the ways that Ignis's breath felt on his face, and Gods— he hadn't thought this through, he had made the wrong choice, because not saying Ignis's name was harder than the heavy, neglected cock between his legs.

This wasn't for him, this wasn't about him.

This was about Ignis, and what Ignis wanted was—

Noct.

Not a hooker. Not a look-alike.

He wanted what he couldn't have, and with Ignis inside of him, Noctis realized with a stunning sort of clarity that what he really wanted was Ignis, too.

Ignis's breath was harsh and his hands were tight, and all Noctis wanted to do was cry out Ignis's name over and over again.

But this wasn't about what he wanted. This was about Ignis.

By the gods, Ignis never really could have Noct, could he? It wasn't possible, no matter how much Noctis wanted it. No matter how much Ignis wanted it.

And so, instead, Noctis took in a deep breath and tightened his hole, enjoying the sound of Ignis sharply groaning. The buttons of his shirt rubbed up against the little amount of Noctis's back that was not hidden by his shirt, leaving little scratches in its wake. His fingers tightened and Noctis prayed that Ignis would come inside of him, to really make Noctis _his_.

But he didn't. Instead, Ignis pulled out and came hard across Noctis, the warm cum splashing against his skin and trickling down to pool in the small of his back. He could feel some of it on the hem of his shirt, but Ignis did nothing but tap his cock against his hole before pulling back and tucking himself back into his pants.

It was all so fast, so fast that Noctis barely caught what Ignis said.

"The cologne was a lovely touch."

Noctis blinked owlishly at the blanket before realizing—oh. His cologne. He had forgotten about that.

There was the sound of ruffling and something hit the bed next to him. He peeked his head around just enough to see the thick white envelope.

"You'll find everything as promised. Thank you, Noct."

Noctis hummed and turned his head back, listening to the sounds of Ignis zipping and buttoning his pants.

He hadn't even taken off his shoes.

He hadn't even helped Noctis come.

Noctis should have been embarrassed. He was used, his body aching and his hips on fire from where Ignis had gripped him tight and clung to him as he came. He should have been humiliated, to have his own Chamberlain touch him in such a way.

But it was Ignis, and Ignis was everything to Noctis. It didn't matter that his cock was hard and that his legs were quaking under him. All he wanted to do was have Ignis come back, for Ignis to put his mouth against the junction between his ear and his throat and reach forward. He wanted the man to wrap his hands around Noctis's cock and jerk him off. He wanted to be able to say something, to speak instead of only giving a vocalization of his pleasure in the form of grunts and moans.

He wanted to hold Ignis, to kiss his mouth and taste him. He wanted to look into Ignis's eyes, big and bright through the darkness.

Was that too much to ask?

Yes. Yes it damn well was, and Noctis knew it. This touching, this silly and beautiful and mind-shattering experience—it was for Ignis. It was for Ignis to taste, for Ignis to smell, for Ignis to feel. This, despite the name, despite the looks, despite everything—it was about Ignis.

It didn't matter that the hooker wanted to be Noctis, or that Ignis wanted Noctis.

It was easier to buy a man for a night than to open up to Noctis.

It made sense. It really did.

But that didn't mean it didn't hurt any less.

Noctis waited for the faint click of the door shutting, then counted to fifty before his legs finally gave way and he found himself on his belly. He rolled onto his back and reached down between his legs, finally grabbing hold of his cock.

He tried to ignore the tears in his eyes and instead tightened his hand around his cock, using the other to reach behind him. Noctis swiped some of the cum onto his finger and lifted it to his lips, closing his eyes.

It was better to pretend that Ignis was still with him, that Ignis had his cock still inside him, that he was the one with his hand wrapped tight around Noctis.

When Noctis came, it was with a sob.

This wasn't what he wanted, not at all.

But.... Noctis knew as he laid there in the bed, surrounded by darkness, that the moment the phone rang again from Royalty Ride, he would answer it.

Gods, he would answer it and die all over again.... until he had the courage to tell Ignis.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I... couldn't let it end there.

The second time was worse than the first time.

Noctis found himself once again pressed up against the bed in a love hotel—a different one than the first time. The lights flickered from the chandelier above his head, playing the light against the wall. He stared at it as if the shadows on the wall would tell him a story on how to make things right, how to tell Ignis.

When he had gotten the email from the hooker from Royalty Ride, Noctis had to force himself to answer back. He had been at breakfast with Ignis, who had excused himself so that he could 'make an appointment with the chiropractor' only a few minutes before, and it took everything in him to not overturn the pancakes on the table or to vomit up the few bites he had managed to swallow.

He told himself he wouldn't, that he couldn't, that he didn't want to do it again. It was better to forget... but at the same time, the thought of Ignis putting his hands on another person, one that tried to be him—no.

Ignis was his Chamberlain. His first friend. His first. His.... everything.

So, Noctis replied with as few words as he could manage and found himself following the directions to a new location after school.

He couldn't tell Ignis. He just—he couldn't.

Instead, Noctis watched as the light from the opening door erased the shadows, just for a moment, before they were plunged back into the dark.

Since that first night, the first time Ignis laid his bare hands against Noctis's body in ways Noctis had only dreamed of, it has been impossible to so much as look at Ignis. What was once sweet dreams were now more akin to nightmares.

Noctis found himself avoiding his chamberlain, even though all he wanted was to wrap his arms around Ignis and kiss him. He wanted to apologize, to tell Ignis what he had done and how stupid it was, and how much it hurt to feel Ignis inside of him and not be able to say a word.

Noctis ran. That was what he was good at. It was what he was always good at.

What kind of king ran from his fears? What kind of man ran from his failures?

The idea of what Ignis would think dried out Noctis's mouth and made everything seem so much darker, so much more terrifying. How would he feel to know that Noctis had taken the place of some hooker, had allowed Ignis to... debase him?

It was debasement, wasn't it? Or was it the other way around, and Noctis was debasing Ignis?

Ignis would blame himself, as he always did. Even when he had done nothing wrong, when it was Noctis who had been the one to blame, Ignis would take everything into himself. He was always like that.

Either way, Noctis knew that opening his mouth and saying a word, any word, would have been the end of everything. Their friendship, their trust, their...

Noctis took in a big breath when he felt hands spreading his cheeks and the tip of Ignis's cock press forward. There weren't any soft touches, only muscle and sinew and shame.

"Being difficult as always," Ignis hissed, and it was so pained that Noctis shook. Oh, Gods. Why had he come back? Why had he done this to himself again? "Impossible to control. Refusing to even look at me.... what have I done to anger you now, Noctis?"

Noctis locked his jaw as Ignis thrust in harder, nearly seating himself into Noctis's ass. He could only see the outline of Ignis on the wall, at his hands around his waist, head bowed down. Even the shadow of Ignis was beautiful.

It was in the dark that Noctis could lie to himself that it didn't hurt as much as his body told him it did. Even then the fire in his body was nothing like how his throat felt, his stomach felt, his heart felt.

Tears burned Noctis's eyes as he felt his body react to the stimulation from Ignis moving inside of him. It was more from the hands on his skin, the fingers that had not just a few hours ago laid across his forehead to check if he had a temperature. They were the same hands that he had pulled away from when they came into contact with his brow.

Ignis didn't understand.... he didn't know that Noctis knew what he had done with those hands only a few nights prior.

Ignis told him he had been acting oddly, and it was the truth. More than oddly, he knew. But the Ignis who had been in that hotel room, the same Ignis who was inside of him right at that moment with his fingers bruising flesh, almost seemed like a completely different person than the Ignis brushing his fringe away from his forehead or making tarts late into the night.

"You've been ignoring me, Noct."

Noctis had to bite down harder to stop himself from turning and replying that it wasn't what he wanted. It was the very last thing he wanted.

No, he didn't want to ignore Ignis. He never wanted to ignore Ignis. But he knew what it was like to feel Ignis touch him and it took everything in him to no lose control.

It wasn't even like he was trying. The morning after, when Ignis arrived in such a light mood, as if all his troubles were fixed, Noctis found himself hiding in his bedroom. When Ignis knocked on the door to rouse him, his humming a soft reminder of just how human Ignis truly was, Noctis buried himself in the covers. Ignis had given him a moment before coming in, but even then Noctis refused to move his head so that Ignis could look at him. He was sure that the night before would be visible like a shattered mask across his cheeks.

It wasn't, but that didn't make him feel any better.

Ignis.... Ignis believed it was a common flu and had called him out from school, promising soup and tea to cure all of his ills. He even offered to stay in and care for him until he felt better, but Noctis had only curled further in on himself.

When Ignis tried to touch him—

Noctis choked back a sob. Why was he doing this to himself? Why?

What kind of pleasure was there in creating his own suffering?

"Why must you torment me so?"

It was like a punch to the stomach. Noctis couldn't help but gasp as he felt a hand twining with his hair, pulling his head back enough to expose his neck.

If Ignis saw his face, if he paid too much attention...

Ignis bit down on the soft flesh of Noctis's neck, sucking hard enough to no doubt leave a bruise. His cock was hot and fast, the constant rhythm leaving Noctis trembling. When he tried to squirm away from Ignis's mouth, Ignis only clenched his fist in Noctis's hair harder.

"Stay still, Noct." The tone he said it in was soft, breathless, but so commanding that Noctis found himself seizing up. "You run from me as if I hurt you. But you are the one who hurts me. Noctis..."

Noctis tried his best to stop himself from moving. He could barely even breathe as it was, with Ignis's body inside of him and pressing him onto the bed.

He had never really paid attention to how much taller Ignis was until that moment. He knew that his Chamberlain was a tall man, a beautiful man, but he felt like paper in Ignis's hands. With just the wrong (or was it right? Noctis couldn't tell the difference anymore) touch, Noctis knew he would shred into a thousand pieces. There would be no way to glue him back into place.

Noctis didn't want to be glued back into place.

When Ignis pressed himself against his prostate, his cock running up against it, Noctis let out a startled gasp and tightened himself around Ignis.

"Do that again," Ignis whispered against his throat. "Let me know what you feel. Let me feel it, too. Please, Noct."

Ignis thrust again and Noctis allowed his body to fall into the comfort of Ignis, who was whispering sweet nothings against his throat instead of the anger from before. He knew exactly how easy it was for Ignis to fall into the feelings, how easy it was for him to go from lust to fury and to the sweet comfort of what Noctis wished he could always have.

Sweet Ignis...

Noctis wondered, numbly, what Ignis would be like with him. Not the hooker Noct, whose eyes were wrong and pierced nose was just so completely unlike him. No, the real Noct. The one that stayed up late playing games as Ignis studied or baked in the kitchen. The Noct that, when he was a child, found himself sneaking into Ignis's bed after a nightmare. The scandal of the prince being found in his Chamberlain's bed had gone on for days until his father put his foot down and told the others to leave them be, as they were just children.

But they weren't children anymore, and Noctis wished that he could have asked for Ignis to stay with him again. Not as the hooker, but just as himself.

"Come for me?" Ignis whispered, and despite how rough he had been when they started Noctis felt a strong hand against his cock. "Come for me, Noct. Please."

He did.

Ignis came, too. Hard and fast, but this time he didn't pull out.

But when Ignis was finished with him, there were no sweet kisses or handholding or reverent exchanges of love. Just as before, Ignis only pulled out of Noctis, this time leaving a sticky mess between Noctis's thighs.

"My apologies— for my— lack of tact," Ignis replied through gasps of air. "I shall be more careful— in the future."

Noctis had to stop himself from speaking, instead only giving a slight hum. He didn't want to turn his head; he didn't want to look at Ignis right then. He didn't want Ignis to look at him. All he wanted to do was tell Ignis that he loved him, that he had since they were kids and that he would have moved the heavens and Eos to make him happy.

"For your... troubles."

Noctis heard the rustle of clothes and paper hitting the bed. But then Ignis paused and, after a little further rustle, the sound of something fluttering.

"Enjoy your night, Noct. Rest well."

When the door was closed and Noctis had caught his breath, warm cum seeping into the sheets, Noctis dared to look at what Ignis had left. The envelope was perfectly sealed, just as it had been last time, but there were a few loose bills scattered on top of the comforter.

_For his trouble._

Noctis laid his head down into the pillow and screamed.

When he managed to drag himself home, he found the supper Ignis had left on the kitchen table next to a promise that Ignis would arrive bright and early to bring him to school. The soup, thick noodles and chicken pieces with nary a vegetable in sight, only made Noctis's stomach churn. Ignis had used the same hands to make that soup that he had used to twine in his hair. The same mouth to taste had bitten into his throat not hours before.

He found himself vomiting into the kitchen sink, Ignis's money burning in his pocket and his cum still slick inside of him. And bile, thick like his own self-loathing, came back to remind him that this was his own doing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This isn't quite the reveal. Not yet. But I promise...
> 
> I just got to break them a little more.


	3. Chapter 3

If the first time was bad and the second time worse, Noctis knew that the third time was hell on Eos.

It hadn't even been a week before the next message came in from the hooker over at Royalty Ride. Ignis had booked a special night in a hotel, and Noctis was to arrive and dress in the clothes that would be waiting for him. 

The man who wore a near identical mask of Noctis's face had shrugged when they met up at the hotel to trade off the cash, Nyx staring disapprovingly at the two from his car.

"Never had him ask this before." The man's face, just so slightly off, frowned. "But it isn't uncommon for some guys. Just roll with it."

"Do you know what it is?"

The mock-prince looked down to the money bundled in his hand, giving it a once-over before shoving it into his pocket. "Probably a maid's uniform or something. Just go with it. He's not gunna cut you or do anything fucked up. It isn't in the contract. Worst Specs does is go raw."

Noctis hissed at the use of Ignis's nickname— who the fuck did this man think he was? Who did he think he was talking about? No one was allowed to call Ignis that.... it was their thing. Not some prostitute, no matter how much he may have looked like Noctis. He wasn't Noctis. He wasn't.

It almost seemed as though the man was about to impart some knowledge or wisdom in that moment, before he frowned again, handing over the hotel room keycard before slowly backing away. "Just don't get me fired."

 _Don't get me fired_.

Noctis had more to worry about than getting the man fired, though. What did Ignis want? Why... why was this time different?

The sound of Ignis's nickname rang in Noctis's ears as he made his way up the stairs of the hotel and up past the lobby. His fingers were like lead as he raised up his arm, using all of his energy to press the button for the 32nd floor.

When he entered the room, Noctis felt the stone drop lower into his stomach.

No.

No.

The room was of mirrors and windows, the entire room open to Insomnia's skyline. Noctis could even see his apartment and the Citadel in the distance. There were no curtains, the only scrap of fabric being the sheets on the bed and the outfit laid out across it.

His school uniform.

There was a kind of mechanicalness to his movements as Noctis slowly pulled off his shirt and pants, even his underwear, as he stared in fascinated horror at the collection of clothing—of _his_ clothing. It was definitely his school jacket, the logo of Insomnia Prep emblazoned across the pocket. The white shirt was crisp and clean, ironed to perfection, though Noctis could still see the slight discoloration to the thread on the second button on top. Noctis had accidentally popped it off while playing a game, and Ignis had—

He had sewn it back on with barely a thank you.

The pants were hemmed on the bottom, just enough so that Noctis would stop stepping on them. Even the fucking tie and underwear were his—pristine, perfect.

Ignis said that the laundry must have lost them yesterday. He had even apologized, but Noctis hadn't had the energy to muster up more than a grunt of affirmation. He was just so tired, so disgusted with himself, he hadn't even managed a single word. He just closed the door to his bedroom and prayed that Ignis wouldn't come in.

If Ignis knew what Noctis was doing, he would have..... gods...

What would Ignis have done? What would he do if he found out that it was really Noctis? That Noctis had swapped places with the man Ignis thought he was fucking? That Noctis was—what he was doing was illegal, wasn't it? it was wrong, immoral, monstrous. Noctis wasn't stupid, but he knew he was desperate. Even if it hurt him, even if it made Noctis hate himself afterwards, the idea of someone else wearing his uniform as Ignis fucked them made Noctis's stomach roll.

How many times had Ignis put a prostitute in Noctis's clothes and then relished in Noctis wearing them the next day? How often had Ignis ironed pants that had traces of his own come for Noctis to unsuspectingly wear?

Who was Noctis to feel guilt when Ignis was—when Ignis was doing that... When Ignis lied every day, in every breath.

Noctis tried to convince himself that his words were real. Every time he repeated them as his hands slipped over the buttons, his shaking palm trembling so hard it was more of a chore to put on his shirt than it had ever been to hang it up or wash it. He tried to remind himself that if Ignis had lied to him, had been fucking men who looked like shallow imitations of him. Who was Noctis to feel bad about any of this when Ignis had—had been getting off on someone else wearing his clothes? And then Noctis would put on those clothes...

This had to stop. It had to end. Noctis couldn't keep this up, not when it felt like parts of him he had never known existed died a little more every time Ignis whispered his name into the shell of his ear.

The moment the door opened and the lights dimmed, Noctis was ready to turn around. He was ready to face Ignis, he—

Ignis's hands were so soft, so delicate against the back of his neck. It was like heaven and hell, and Noctis leaned forward, allowing his forehead to press against the cool glass. His breath whispered against the picturesque scenery of Insomnia, and Noctis had to bite down on the inside of his cheek to keep from screaming.

"Noct," Ignis crooned against his scalp, and Noctis... couldn't. He couldn't turn around, because this was all he had ever wanted. Ignis wanting him, Ignis thinking of him, Ignis touching him.

This time... it was sweeter. More chaste, almost, if there could be anything chaste in the sinful way Ignis's hands felt like livewire against Noctis's skin. It was so easy for Noctis to pull himself away from what was right, what Ignis deserved to know. It was so easy to also imagine that this really was Ignis— his Ignis, an Ignis who knew it was him and knew that Noctis wanted it just as much as Ignis did.

Despite telling himself no, that this was supposed to end, that what Noctis was doing to Ignis was wrong—there was nothing wrong with what Ignis's hands were doing, or his lips, or his tongue.

And Noctis hated himself more and more, wishing with every breath that he could just die. What was he doing? Who had he become?

"Let me," Ignis whispered as he slowly reached forward to undo the tie, and Noctis found himself swallowing as Ignis's thumb brushed against his Adam's apple. "You've been so... distant. Let me fix it, Highness—Noct. Please."

Next went the jacket, then his belt sliding against the buckle, leather against metal making Noctis's teeth set on edge. But Ignis's hands were still there, as though they were made for his body. He allowed his thumbs, blessedly free from gloves, to ghost across his jaw and then down, slower and slower. His fingers played Noctis like a violin, pulling him taut. He was ready to snap without so much as a trigger.

By the time Ignis's hand reached into Noctis's pants, thumbing his cock through his underwear, Noctis had already given in. One more time, one more... One more lie to add to an overflowing glass.

Just one more.

He smelled like coffee and musky vanilla—not the overly sweetened vanilla in most perfumes, but something aged and refined, a touch of _something_ that felt like home but had no name. It was maybe his sweat, maybe his breath... Noctis didn't know and couldn't ask. All he knew was that he wanted to drown in that smell instead of the anger and self-loathing bubbling and cresting from his stomach up into his throat.. What would he have given to just turn around and press an open-mouthed kiss to Ignis's lips? To run his hands across Ignis's cheeks and allow his nose to nestle against his life-long friend?

But—

Ignis would never forgive him.

Ignis would hate him.

But Noctis knew the truth—Ignis would hate himself more.

It wasn't right, it wasn't fair. He had to turn around, he just _had_ to, but it would hurt Ignis too much. Ignis didn't deserve that. 

If there was one thing that convinced Noctis that it had to be the last time, it was in the way Ignis whispered his name like a prayer against his throat.

Just one last time, and then Noctis would lock the memories tight in his mind. He would never share it with a single soul. If the hooker ratted him out, Noctis would lie. And Nyx... Nyx wouldn't say a word.

And Noctis wouldn't, either.

Noctis pressed his lips to the cold window as he felt Ignis spread him open, his hand guiding Noctis into bending ever so slightly enough for Ignis to slip between his cheeks. He can feel lube and warmth against his ass, a startling contrast to the tears and class. Insomnia had never been so beautiful and so, so dark.

Ignis was considerate and kind, more than Noctis ever deserved. More than he could have ever asked for from his advisor.

"Did that hurt, Noct?"

For one moment, for the briefest of seconds, Noctis wished he could have spoken, that he could have whispered out a ragged, "Yes—" or "No—" or, more likely, a shattered staccato of Ignis's name.

But Noctis bit down harder on the inside of his cheek and made a sound that Ignis took as an affirmative. It was really the sound of Noctis's heart breaking, but who was Noctis to say so?

It was the sweetest and most gentle Ignis had ever been to him, like Noctis was made of the same glass pressed against his cheek. Ignis allowed his fingers to ghost across the plains of Noctis's hip bones, against the corners of his perfectly pressed school shirt, letting them come to rest against the hair trailing its way up his stomach. Ignis allowed his finger to play with it as he pressed himself inside.

Noctis peeked up then, just for a moment. It was long enough for him to see Ignis's mouth, his closed eyes, his trembling chin, the trickle of something making its way down his cheeks.

It couldn't have been tears. 

Ignis would never know....

This had to end. It felt so right—how was that even possible?

Ignis moved languidly, their bodies coming together with a gentle constant of skin slapping against skin. Ignis, at some point, rested his forehead against Noctis's back, and all he could feel was the heat of his breath and the wetness of sweat ( _tears_ ) seep through his white shirt.

"I lov—"

Noctis clamped down around Ignis at the sound of the words. They were like an echo over a silent city, the stars their only witness. So high up, the Gods and their smattering of constellations seemed closer than Ignis could ever be to Noctis—the real Noctis.

Noctis tried to block out Ignis's words, his petal-sweet declarations and his soft cries of a name that Noctis couldn't answer to.

When Ignis came, it was with a call of Noctis's name. He reached around to touch Noctis, to make him feel something he didn't deserve. But Noctis did come, his face pressed against the glass with only warm breath and tear tracks through the vestiges of his gasps to comfort him.

"Noct..."

And Noctis allowed himself to fall to his knees when Ignis's hands pulled away, craving something he would never have again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I'm at my breaking point with this story. I'm gunna be honest with you guys—this got dubious and is bordering on feeling like non-con to me. I've kind of got a rule about not writing non-con, but this story wanted to be told and I went for the angst. I think we need an emotional resolution between these two, because both of them really deserve it.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope I didn't disappoint you guys!
> 
> Next chapter... the reveal.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: borderline non-con. I don't write non-con, so it doesn't get explicit. But it is a warning.

The fourth time—

There shouldn't have be a fourth time. There shouldn't have been a first, nor second, nor third time. There should have been a line in the sand that Noctis never dared to cross, but he had. He had more than crossed it; he had ignored it and outright lit it on fire and stomped on the ashes.

This was what he deserved. Every moment was what he had coming all along.

There was no one else to blame but himself.

Noctis remembered the morning with such vividness: the milk in his cereal that made his corn flakes soggy, the sound of the brush against the pot Ignis was busy cleaning, the padding of his feet against the tile floor, perfectly in tune with the little hum of a song Noctis could almost remember. Noctis could also remember the suit hanging off the back of the chair next to him, the way the metal scraped against the wood when he lifted it up with trembling fingers. It was perfectly pressed and cleaned, the little second button's thread just a shade off from its proper color.

How could he?

How fucking _could_ he?

He remembered ignoring Ignis on his way out the door, at his untied shoelace as they smacked into the cuff of the same pants he had pooled around his feet just a few days before. There was a numbness that sunk into his bones as he walked down the stairs, forgoing the elevator, a fuzziness in his head that nothing could quite get rid of. Was this what the edge felt like? Was this the point where it became too much, where logic and understanding consumed him and took everything from him?

Noctis felt as though breathing hurt, as if someone was purposely sticking a knife between his ribs and twisting. Twisting and turning, pulling and yanking until there was nothing inside of him left but an open hole, oozing cum and disappointment and secret shame.

He went through the entire day in a haze, only snapping from the monotony somewhere between classes or lunch—which one was coming and going only the gods knew—when his phone began to buzz in his pocket.

Royalty Ride.

_He seems chill, but he wants to go dry. Just do what he wants._

And that was how Noctis was in another nameless hotel room, another empty promise that was whispered on deaf ears from broken men. Noctis hadn't even bothered to change from his school pants or white button-up shirt, simply throwing the tie and his blazer into the bathroom. This wasn't going to end with him fucking Ignis this time; this had to end. They were going to be honest. This had to—it had to be the end.

If it didn't, Noctis would end up killing himself. Slowly, surely, this kind of pain would never let him go.

If it wasn't, if he didn't, Noctis knew it was going to be the end of everything. The end of his sanity. The end of their trust, whatever wasn't already shattered at their feet. The end of himself.

This was the precipice. All Noctis had to do was let go. 

When the door opened, Noctis allowed himself to take a deep breath as he braced to turn around, to face reality. They were both killing themselves for no reason—they loved each other, didn't they? That's what Ignis had said. It was what Noctis had always known. It was what Noctis and Ignis had both always wanted.

He hadn't expected Ignis's hand wrapping around the back of his neck and pushing him straight down into the bed. He didn't expect the hand pulling at his belt, the feverish, almost mad scramble of tugging at pants. He didn't expect the hard cock through pants and the almost violent twist as Ignis's hand grabbed hold of the hair at the base of his neck, pushing him into the sheets.

"Sometimes, I swear," Ignis seethed when Noctis let out a muffled gasp into the sheets. "l never bloody well understand you, Noct. Why do you make this so difficult? Why must you make everything so bloody _difficult_?"

This wasn't Ignis. This... This wasn't Ignis.

This wasn't the same boy who had held his hand with a reverence Noctis had never understood. This wasn't the boy who painted the floor with mud and dirt, smiling as he allowed the first stroke to his paint set cover up the destruction on a priceless painting. This wasn't the boy who had made a thousand pastries just to get Noctis to smile. This wasn't the man who Noctis had grown to love as he got older, the man that Noctis had been wanting so desperately since all those months ago when he allowed his desire to overcome his senses.

No.

This was a wild animal wearing the face of his oldest friend.

This wasn't Ignis.

But it sounded like him, smelled like him, felt like him. The erratic breathing, the frenzied movements, the strength of the grip he had on Noctis's hips—It was Ignis.

How?

And the words... Did Ignis really think that? Did he...

"S—" Noctis breathed into the sheets, feeling the words stick in his throat. He wasn't loud enough for Ignis to hear, wasn't loud enough for Ignis to care. It wasn't enough.

Nothing was enough.

Fingers, intrusive and painful, and a voice that made Noctis gasp—the anger, the pain, the fury written between words and laced with an accent Noctis had always found so comforting. But now there were fingers inside of him, hard and dull and utterly unwelcome, and Noctis couldn't go anything more but to gasp in pain into his sheets. Those same sheets felt like a pillow, snuffing out his breath. What was breath? What was living when he felt like dying?

"Sometimes I almost **_loathe_** you."

And Noctis cried. It was the dam that he had pushed back for so long finally wavering, then breaking. The pressure of a thousand moments and a thousand unspoken words were like the water lapping at the edge of the stones, and the crack he had once ignored finally began to crumble. And the rush of water, the rush of pain and humiliation and horror finally began its descent.

"Ign— stop—"

The hand inside him stilled, the other pressing against his mended school shirt, the same school shirt Ignis had ironed just that morning. The same one he had worn just a few days prior. The same one that Ignis had let his tears soak as he whispered about love and devotion. It pressed just against the edge that had ridden up Noctis's back, the tails of the shirt rubbing against his scar.

Fuck.

His scar.

He could almost feel Ignis's panic, Ignis's almost palpable fear as he choked out just one word. One word as he pushed the shirt up to display the scar from his childhood against the skin. One word that he repeated as he pulled out his dry fingers from Noctis's body, as his nails scrambled against the cloth of the white shirt he had ironed only that morning.

"Noct—?"

The strength left Noctis as he allowed his body to lay still against the bed until Ignis turned him over onto his back, the ceiling and the dim light coming into focus. But more than that, directly above him, was Ignis. His sweet, kind, gentle friend. The one who had wrapped his hand around the back of his neck and forced his fingers into what he thought was a willing body. The same friend who had bandaged his scraped knees had grabbed onto his hair and forced his face down into the sheets, not caring as he cried. The same man Noctis had used and used and then lied to.

Noctis had ra—

Noctis curled up in a ball as he choked out a hollow, " _Ignis_ —"

He was only met with the sickening sound of silence before Ignis dropped to his knees at the foot of the bed. The sound of retching overcame the silence, a broken cry from a gutteral place Noctis knew well. No matter how much Noctis wanted to stand, wanted to shakily grab hold of Ignis, to bring him comfort, the words his friend had whispered repeated them over and over in Noctis's head.

Ignis would hate him.

Ignis **_did_** hate him.

And Noctis deserved it. He deserved that anger, that blame, that _loathing._ He had earned it, and deserved to wear it like a badge of shame.

He had destroyed his first friend.

He had destroyed Ignis.

And, Noctis knew, he had destroyed himself, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Shit.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *holds out tissue box*

"Ignis, please. Stop—wait! Let me explain—"

What was there to explain? That Noctis had tried Ignis over the last several weeks, that he had pretended to be a prostitute for Ignis to use however he wanted? That he had not only violated his oldest friend's body but his very trust?

Noctis tried to grab at Ignis's hand but found himself being batted away as if he were nothing but air.

Ignis said nothing. Noctis was pretty sure that was the worst thing of all; Ignis was never silent. Not to him. Never to him. He would rail off and chastise, or offer comforting words, or sometimes even snark until he pushed up his glasses with a long, drawn-out sigh. But silence... silence wasn't Ignis's way of acting around Noctis. It had never been.

Until now.

"I'm sorry, please. I'm so, _so_ sorry."

Ignis was scrambling to pull up his pants, ignoring Noctis's hands, ignoring Noctis's words. Noctis pulled up his own pants, wincing as his underwear pulled up against his ass. This wasn't what this was supposed to be like. This wasn't anything like it was supposed to be. 

"Let me explain, _please_. Let me explain."

Ignis wiped his arm across his trembling mouth and Noctis could see it in his eyes. The hurt, the anger, the fear, the pain. It was enough to make the air leave Noctis's lungs. He had never seen Ignis look at anyone that way. He had never experienced Ignis looking at _him_ that way.

"What?" His voice was cracked and broken, a shred of the young man that Noctis knew. "What's there to say?"

Gods, Noctis wanted to explain it all. He wanted to start from the beginning, the first time he thought about Ignis touching him. He wanted to tell Ignis about the dreams, the fantasies, the way Noctis had touched himself while thinking about Ignis. It was his shameful secret, his humiliation.

He wanted to tell Ignis about how he found out about Royalty Ride, how he had traded places with the hooker who wore his face. He wanted to tell Ignis the guilt that had eaten at his insides, but how good it felt to have Ignis touch him like he would never have alone. He wanted to talk about the betrayal, how it felt to know that Ignis would share himself with someone else, but would never say a word to him. He wanted to call Ignis out for telling him that he loved Noctis, then in the next breath said that he hated him.

He wanted Ignis to know that Noctis loved him, that he always had and always would.

But all that Noctis could manage was, "Please."

It wasn't enough. It never was going to be enough.

Ignis turned his back on Noctis, the first time he had ever done so in his life. With that move, that act of finality, Ignis left the hotel room, slamming the door in his wake.

 

* * *

 

 

The next few hours were hazy; Noctis remembered leaving the hotel, but he wasn't sure how. He knew that Nyx had managed to get him home, but Noctis couldn't remember the drive. He couldn't remember making his way into his too-quiet apartment. The lights were off, the kitchen empty. There were leftovers in the fridge from the night before, and Noctis could still almost see Ignis in front of him, an apparition in the darkness.

He closed his eyes and stood silently in the room, hoping that when he opened them it would be that morning, back when things were still okay, back when Ignis was still there.

But when he opened his eyes, he could only see the blurry outline of the table and a batch of cold pastries. They were so perfectly imperfect, so Ignis. 

Noctis found home on the floor in the middle of the kitchen, huddled in a small ball. He knew it wasn't good for his back, knew that he was pitiful and that this was all his fault, but there was nothing else he could do. He could have screamed, he could have cried, could have even done something drastic—but all he wanted to do was lay down and allow the coldness of the floor to swallow him up. He just wanted to lay there and wait. He had to wait because Ignis would come back.

Ignis always came back.

This time, though, he _didn't_.

Noctis watched the clock tick through the evening and into the night, the little red digits moving so agonizingly slow. It would only take so long before Ignis came. Even if it wasn't for dinner, he would come for breakfast. Ignis hadn't missed a morning _ever_. He was always there, always on time, always the first person Noctis saw in the morning and the last person he saw before going to bed at night.

But as the clock blinked the minutes by and as the sun rose, Ignis did not come. Even as his cell phone buzzed when he missed the first bell to his first class, then the ring that Noctis knew was from school, he didn't move. Eventually, his phone died and the ringing stopped.

Everything stopped.

It wasn't much later that the Crownsguard arrived. Noctis knew it wasn't Ignis because of how they didn't even wait for him, instead banging once before opening the door and shuffling their way inside. Whoever it was didn't even take off their shoes—Ignis would be so pissed that someone was walking on the floor with their dirty boots. Or, rather, would have been pissed. But Ignis was gone.

Ignis wasn't coming back.

"Noctis?"

Just like that, it was over. Noctis shuddered as he felt Cor's boots his the floor next to him, hiding his face in shame. Cor had served two kings. Had any of them been as weak as Noctis was? Had any of them failed as badly as Noctis had?

"He said you'd probably be like this."

Noctis tried to turn to face Cor, but he couldn't move. He could only stare up at the clock, at the shining red lights that said it was near noon. How long had he been on the floor?

Where was Ignis?

"C'mon, Noctis. Let's get you to bed."

"Where's Ignis?" His throat was raw, parched, but Noctis managed to say the name without breaking into tears. He needed Cor to tell him where Ignis was, why Ignis wasn't there. He needed Ignis because Ignis was the only person that Noctis ever really needed. It had been that way since they were children. Noctis would make a mistake, but Ignis always was there.

Ignis never left him. Never.

He never turned his back. He never walked out the door.

"Noctis. He's not coming."

"I...."

"He came to my office this morning and tendered his resignation from the Crownsguard. I didn't accept it."

Noctis would have vomited if there was anything in his stomach, but he could only dry heave for a moment before Cor clapped him on the shoulder.

"I don't expect you to tell me what is going on, Noctis, but I do need you to get off this floor. Do you think you can walk?"

Noctis could feel the twinge in his spine, the way it felt when he fell a wrong way during training. "No..."

"C'mon, then. Wrap your arms around my shoulders."

Noctis did as he was told as Cor continued talking, though Noctis could only catch bits and pieces. "Leide— an assignment— away from the City— time—"

"He's... he's gone?"

Cor laid him on his bed, tucking him into his blankets. "Ignis left this morning. He'll return when the assignment is finished. I'll send Monica over after her shift to help you pack your things."

Noctis blinked at Cor, who sat on the corner of the mattress. It dipped under his weight, but the only thing Noctis could think of is how Ignis had grabbed the back of his neck and forced his face into the pillows. He could feel how his knees had given under the weight—

"Your father. We're under orders to bring you back to the Citadel tonight. He's.... he's your father. He's worried. Without Ignis, you're—"

"Alone."

Cor nodded and reached up, and for a moment Noctis thought that Cor would touch him. The man, however, put his hand into his lap. "Ignis didn't explain what happened, but I think I have an idea. And so does your father."

It was like a slap in the face and Noctis winced. His father—how much did they know? How much would they hate him, just like Ignis did?

"He loves you, you know. Don't be angry that he worries about you."

Noctis knew that Cor was talking about his father, but it wasn't his father's love that he wanted at that moment. All he wanted, all he needed, was Ignis.

And Ignis was gone, just like his father would be one day in the not too distant future.

He deserved to be alone.

Noctis destroyed everything he touched.

Cor left him in his bed, more alone then than he had been curled up on the floor in his kitchen. At least there, staring up at the clock, there had been the fire of a hope, the cinders of the door opening and Ignis coming in to help him off the floor and to tell him that everything would be okay.

In the warm embrace of his bed, Noctis knew the truth.

Ignis was gone, and Noctis...

Noctis was alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well. Fuck.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning when Monica showed up, Noctis didn't even bother to crawl out of bed.

He listened to the woman as she went through his drawers, as she picked out several sets of uniforms from the closet, the same uniforms that Ignis had picked up from the dry cleaner not even a few days ago. It still felt like the clocks were rushing and stuck in the same perpetual tick, but Noctis couldn't stop himself from staring at the black marker smiley face on the coat hanger.

Ignis knew why they used that dry cleaner—the man who owned it always added that little touch of happiness to his orders, and it made Noctis feel less alone with something so simple and so happy to look him in the eye every morning.

Now?

Who cared about dry cleaning. Nothing mattered because Ignis was gone, and Ignis wasn't coming back.

Noctis felt empty.

It was a constant thing, Noctis realized as Monica helped him to his feet, making him dress himself. At first, Noctis feared that she would touch him, that she would feel his skin and understand what a disgusting person he was, that everything he touched withered and died. There was nothing good in him. There was nothing good about anything, not anymore.

Noctis destroyed everything he touched.

It was hard to breathe, hard to think, and Noctis preferred the numbness to the never-ending yearning, the ache that he never knew Ignis had filled until the man was gone and all of Noctis's organs fell out of his body and into his hands. There had been a hole there all of this time, and now that Ignis was gone...

How was he supposed to hold himself together? His fingers were a sieve and he didn't have the energy to pull his skin over himself, didn't have the energy to push the pieces into order and breathe through the aching pain just under the surface. He couldn't sew up the gaping hole.

How was he supposed to do this? How was he supposed to keep going when there was nothing left?

Noctis watched the world pass in a haze of colors, a memory of what he was. While the first few days were bad, the ones that came after were somehow worse.

Noctis knew he was scaring the people in the Citadel, his classmates, his dad—his silence, his despondency, his unwillingness to do anything without the guiding hand of someone else telling him what to do made them look at him if he were broken. He went to school in shirts that weren't pressed right, avoiding the uniform at the bottom of his closet that Noctis wanted to never see again. But every week someone from the staff would come in and wash it before hanging it back up, and Noctis would tear it back down and wish that he had the courage to burn it rather than looking at the button Ignis had sewed back on.

Prompto did his best, but Noctis could barely look at his best friend. What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to explain it without sounding like a monster? But he was a monster. He didn't deserve pity or sympathy, and he knew he didn't deserve Prompto's kind words or gestures. So, instead, Noctis just stared past Prompto's head and nodded along, hope that it was enough.

He did, however, deserve everything Gladio did.

Gladio had taken the sword to him again and again, working him until his body ached and that pain was enough to keep Noctis from lying awake at night dreaming of Ignis's hands, of his mouth, or a thousand things he wanted to tell the other man and the ones that he wished he could have taken back. Gladio fought him until he hurt, then made sure to push him down again for good measure. It wasn't enough, it wasn't painful enough, so Noctis knew he would keep standing up until he physically couldn't.

"Get up. We'll do this until you're better. Until you're stronger." Gladio hadn't even worked up a sweat. Noctis knew that if he didn't stand up soon then Gladio would pick him up and drag him to his feet and kick his ass until there was nothing left but a bruise.

So he didn't stand up, instead waiting for Gladio to grab him by the scruff of his shirt. He needed it. He needed to feel it all.

He deserved every hit. He didn't even try to block them.

By the end of it, just as he had every night since he was forced back to the Citadel, Noctis would curl up on his bed and press the speed dial button on his phone. He laid his head against his pillow, one finger poised on the screen to redial when Ignis didn't pick up. He would click the button a dozen times, listening to the soft ringing that was like a symphony in his head. Time and time, click after click, Noctis allowed himself to listen to the phone ring and ring and ring.

Ignis had turned off the message after the third night, and it was hard for Noctis to sleep without hearing him one last time before sleep. Just one more time, just one more call... Maybe, maybe if he called enough, maybe Ignis would pick up the phone. Maybe, just for a moment, Ignis would forget that he hated Noctis and had every right to hate him. Maybe he would answer the phone. Maybe he would say hello, and they could figure it all out from there.

Maybe he could apologize to Ignis. Maybe tonight it would be different.

Maybe this time he could open his mouth.

Maybe. Maybe. Maybe.

On the nineteenth night, when Noctis laid on his bed, body burning and mind caught in the fog of going too fast and never moving, he allowed his finger to hover over the call button for just a second before pressing down.

But there was no ringing this time.

No ringing.

Noctis smiled, his heart fluttering in his chest. He knew Ignis would answer, he knew that Ignis would never leave him—

_We're sorry, you have reached a number that has been disconnected or is no longer in service._

The phone hit the wall and shattered into a thousand pieces, just like Noctis's heart.

He _**screamed**_.

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

There was this peculiar way that the entire world changed, and yet everything was still somehow the same.

It was as though the sun decided, randomly, that it would prefer to rise in the west and set in the east. The tides no longer went in or out, but instead went up and down. The moon had somehow lost all of its luster in one phase, and so had the sun—they were once so beautiful, that much Noctis remembered. They were barely anything but dimly-glowing black holes in the sky.

Noctis couldn’t even look up at the sky without thinking of Ignis. All he could remember was the way his friend had aught him how to love the sky, how to love the moon and the stars and all the treasures of the universe. How many nights had they spent staring up into the sky, recounting all of the stars and constellations?

Did Ignis look at the sky every night and wonder the same thing?

School was the much same, a cacophony of sound and foolish children living foolish lives. Why did they all have to be so loud? Noctis found himself sitting in his classroom with his hands clasped over his head, unable to do more than stare at the pinkened sky just outside his cage and hope that the teachers would ignore him. He didn’t want to be called on, because he didn’t know when was the last time he had even bothered to pick up a book. He didn’t even have the energy to lie.

It was pathetic; he had been forced back home and yet his father hadn’t asked him to do anything. No homework, no schoolwork, not even a single report from the past two weeks had even made it onto his desk. 

There was nothing on his desk. No video games open, no dinner, no books. He hadn’t even bothered to write back in the notebook for Luna, instead sending it back with Umbra unanswered.

Noctis was unsure how he managed to get through the days, knowing that his feet were barely able to hold him up. He was a living zombie, a mass of flesh and bone and blood that moved without thinking, breathed without really living. He knew that others were _staring_ as though he were a bug caught underneath their clear jar, and they wanted to inspect him to know every one of his secrets.

He had always hated the way the others looked at him, the way they never gave him the space he needed to just be Noctis.

If it had been a year ago, Noctis was sure he would have said something and the next day Ignis would have helped him come up with a way to work around their never-blinking eyes. Ignis would have let his fingers rest against Noctis’s shoulder, and there would have been more than enough comfort to help him make it through the next day at school.

But that was then.

Then didn’t exist anymore, because Ignis was gone, and Ignis wasn’t coming back.

What was he supposed to worry about? Was he supposed to sit there and wonder about his classes? Was he supposed to fret over his training with Gladio? Was he supposed to just go to the local arcade with Prompto and pretend that everything was all right?

Nothing was ever going to be right.

Ignis was gone.

Ignis wasn’t coming back.

Those words send a stabbing pain through Noctis’s every nerve, and he tried his best to ignore the sudden anger that burned across his face and through his veins. He couldn’t even be angry at Ignis, because Ignis hadn’t done anything wrong—it was Noctis who had broken the other man. It was Noctis who had done it without thought or even a moment of sha—

No. Thet wasn’t true. Noctis had felt shame since that first time, when he had crawled onto the bed and allowed Ignis to shove his cock into him. It had been his own shame at tricking Ignis, of biting his cheeks to keep himself from telling Ignis a thousand times over that he had loved the other man.

What would have happened if he had been honest to Ignis?

What if Ignis had been honest with him?

 _No. I don’t get to put this on him_ , Noctis thought savagely. _I don’t get to blame him at all_.

Did the others know what Noctis had done? No doubt if anyone were to look, they would know immediately of his secret shame. They would know of his greed, of his arrogance, of this failure.

They would know that what Noctis had done, how he had ra—

No.

It was all too much.

_They all know and they hate me._

_Good._

Gladio hadn't been speaking to him very much, and Noctis could only assume that Gladio understood why Ignis had left, why he had run, why he had abandoned Noctis.

Abandoned.

Was that a fair word to use? Was that a proper word to use against the man who had grown up by his side, who had loved him, who would've done anything for him?

Who would have done anything but stay.

Not fair. It wasn’t fair to Ignis, because Noctis knew that he would have run if he could have gotten away, if the crown wasn’t a noose around his throat.

Oh, what would he have given to turn back time, to go back to before he had found out about Royalty Ride? What would he have done just to forget everything he had done, everything he had felt, everything he had seen? Noctis knew now what he hadn’t known then—it wasn’t just lust driving his oldest friend to finding men who looked like him.

Noctis closed his eyes and focused on his heart hammering away in his chest. It was better to focus on the physical sensations, of the pain lacing its way through him, then to allow himself to think about Ignis with anyone else. Ignis, kissing another man’s lips. Ignis, pushing himself in deep into another man.

Ignis, whispering his love for Noctis against someone else’s skin.

No.

Ignis had every reason to hate him, every reason to loathe his very being. There was a type of trust that Noctis had willingly betrayed. He'd taken that perfect, beautiful love and ripped it apart in the palms of his own hands. How was he supposed to blame Ignis for being angry? How was he supposed to not understand the pain that he had put Ignis through?

It did not stop the burning and the pain in his heart, and Noctis tried to block it the only way he knew how.

Push it in, push it in deeper. Ignore the pain, pretend as though everything is fine.

It was what had gotten him through life so far, right?

_Ignore it all. Ignore it all._

Go numb.

Nothing.

Noctis tried, and it almost seemed as though it was going to work, but when reality crashed back down to the surface…

Nothing was spared.

“I don't know what the fuck you did, but you better fix it.”

Noctis didn’t even try to fight back when Gladio pinned him down to the mat, his arm lifted above him. It wasn’t to protect himself, but instead to welcome any punch that Gladio wanted to land.

Did Gladio know how much Noctis wanted to hurt? Could anyone ever possibly understand?

“He's been gone for a month,” Gladio continued as he got down onto his knees next to Noctis, dropping his training sword onto the mat next to his head with a clunk. “And I don't know what you did, but you need to fix it.”

Noctis's mouth was dry. “There’s nothing I can do.” His voice was hoarse, and Noctis wondered if Gladio would be able to understand that it wasn’t from their sparring match. When was the last time Noctis had talked? “There's nothing I can do.”

“He disconnected his cell.”

“I know.”

Gladio let out a sound of almost animalistic fury as he hit his fists against the blue safety pads underneath them. "What the hell did you do, Noct? He's never been like this before.”

 _Gee, I wonder why. It's not like I ruined his life or anything._ Noctis bit back the words building up in him, trying his best not to scream.

Gladio took in a breath, calming himself. When he spoke next, Noctis could tell that Gladio was choosing his words carefully. “Whatever it is can't be that bad. We all know Ignis would walk on water if you asked him to. Just… Figure a way to apologize. Fix this, before you fuck it up anymore than it already is.”

“Fuck it up anymore?” Noctis’s voice broke. “You think I can possibly fuck it up more that I already have?”

“I don't know. What did you do in the first place?”

“I—“

“Spit it out already.”

Noctis couldn’t say it out loud, he could barely even think it, let alone say it.

“It’s bad.”

That was the best he could do.

“He’ll forgive you, you know.”

But Noctis knew the truth.

“I don’t deserve to be forgiven.”

For just a moment a flash of something that was far to close to pity made its way over Gladio’s face. “Maybe not, but you’ll never know if you don’t try.”

But Ignis was gone, had left the city, tried to even leave the service of the Crownsguard. There wasn’t anything else that Noctis could do. The line was still disconnected, much like the string that wrapped around their hearts was severed.

“I—“

“He’s back in his apartment—waiting for his next assignment.” Gladio’s voice was composed, but just barely. “He won’t listen to anyone else, won’t even mention you, but…”

“You think I should go there?” Noctis asked, feeling a lump begin to make its way up his throat. “He doesn’t want to see me.”

No. Ignis would have been better off it Noctis never showed highs face again. At last then Ignis would be able to move on, rather than have the constant reminder of Noctis haunting him.

“Well, you’re both being pathetic. One of you needs to make the first move.” Gladio wiped at his knees and stood back up. He seemed to contemplate his next movement, but in the end he reached down to try and grab Noctis’s hand.

“He’ll listen to you.”

Noctis swallowed.

“I think... I think that’s what I’m afraid of.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! More angst for you. Sorry, I've been busy with real life and original writing (writing my third novel, which should be going live in a few weeks) but I promise I didn't forget any of my stories.
> 
> Next chapter—
> 
> A reunion.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uh...

Noctis could feel his heart beating in his throat. He didn’t understand how was even possible, but it was undeniable. His mouth tasted like metal, his throat parched and burning, and his hands —

His hands were twitching. No, not twitching. They were downright _shaking_. He could feel every tremor radiating from his shoulder blades down, and even the little baby areas in the back of his next tension.

How long was he going to wait here? How long was he going to stand like a lovesick puppy, waiting for its owner to come home…

There was, of course, the chance that Ignis was already home, just waiting behind that door. Was he making dinner, rolling up his sleeves before washing and chopping vegetables? Or maybe he was sitting on the couch, staring down at the open page of the book with too many words and not enough feeling? Maybe he was in the shower, allowing the water to run down his back —

Noctis knew that he had no right to be thinking about that. Ignis had made damn sure of it, and it was unlikely that Noctis would ever forget.

Still, the very thought of Ignis in such peaceful bliss damn near brought Noctis to tears. None of this was fair, none of this was right, and yet Noctis couldn’t tell himself no.

That’s exactly what got them into the situation in the first place, he knew. All of this was, and always had been, his fault. It was his own weakness, his own petty insecurities that gnawed on his ribs, that made it so hard that very first time and so much easier the others. Even if it were hell, it was hell with Ignis and _anything_  was worth being with Ignis.

It was worth it.

_No, it wasn’t._

And found himself cracking his knuckles one at a time as he stared at the locked door, contemplating the words that he would say. Would it be like the movies, where Ignis would open the door and Noctis would fall into his arms, refusing to ever let go? Or maybe he would never even bother to open the door, instead preferring the sound of Noctis’s knuckles rapping against the door for the rest of eternity?

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about it. Don’t think about —

All of this was a lie. All of this was just a stupid lie to convince himself that his pain was worth even an inch of Ignis’s anguish. It wasn’t. Nothing was worth that kind of pain that he put Ignis through.

The resolve that it been building inside of Noctis’s stomach seemed to deflate at that very moment, and it took more will than he would’ve ever dared to admit to keep himself from sliding down to his knees in prayer. He focused on the sounds on the other side of the door, the chiming of the television and the sounds of cooking. Noctis knew that Ignis was there, knew that the moment his fingers touched the wood that the man would be standing in front of him.

Ignis was… He was good. He was a good man.

Ignis deserved better. He’d always deserved better, and yet was instead given someone as foolish and hard-headed as Noctis was. Really, none of this had ever been fair to Ignis. He always tried his best, did everything right, and yet here he was stuck with Noctis.

Still, Noctis could hear the words that Ignis had whispered to him in the darkness. He could remember the words of love, devotion, but also of anger and hatred and fury —

He didn’t belong here. He should’ve gone home, never dared follow Gladio’s stupid suggestion. None of this was going to go right, and he already knew the real feelings inside of Ignis. He didn’t need to have those thrown back at him, another reminder of his own failure.

And yet —

His palms were sweating. He could feel the sweat trickling between his lifelines, down to the tips of his fingers. It was wet, and he had to rub his fingers together to try and make it a little less obvious.

What would Ignis say if he saw him? All of those hours of training, all of that time and yet Noctis was nothing but a foolish boy with sweaty palms and a dry mouth. She wasn’t brave, never had been brave. If he’d been brave in the first place, maybe none of this would’ve happened. Maybe he would’ve been able to tell Ignis the truth all of those months ago, before any of this had really begun.

Before Royalty Ride. Before…

He couldn’t turn back time. The only way he could move was forward, and though his hands shook, Noctis finally in a moment of stupidity, raised his hand to knock against the front door. Just one knock, and then his hand drew back.

Noctis didn’t even think of what he was going to say, only that he needed to say something. He needed to say anything, anything was better than this emptiness and silence. These weeks of being alone, haunted by the dream of what could have been and what should have been.

When the door began to jingle, Noctis nearly lost that little bit of bravery, or stupidity, but he forced his heels down into the ground and waited. That’s all he could really do, after all.

Wait.

When the door opened, Noctis felt the air knocked straight out of his lungs, Because the person waiting on the other side —

A distorted mirror. It wasn’t perfect, but—Iggy wasn’t looking at his face. Iggy had never looked at his  _face._

“Oh, it’s _you_.”

And all Noctis could do was stare at the hooker with his brown eyes and the little piece of metal in his nose, wearing nothing but a towel around his waist. The man made a gesture, small enough that Noctis almost missed it, but the way he closed the door ever so slightly told Noctis that Ignis was there, too. Just a thin wooden door between them, and if Noctis tried hard enough, he would be able to open that door and see the one person in the world that mattered to him the most.

The one person he had failed.

“He doesn’t want you here.”

“I—”

“Just go home.” There was pity in the man’s eyes, and to see his own face look back at him made Noctis’s stomach roll. "Before you make it any worse."

But Noctis didn't care about the hooker, he cared about Ignis on the other side of the door. He could almost _feel_ Ignis's presence. If he begged, if he pleaded, then  _maybe..._

“Please, Iggy? Just let me explain. I—”

But the door closed right in his face, and all Noctis could do was blink back the tears and rest his head on the wooden surface. He didn’t bang his hands on the door, didn't scream, but instead reached up as though it were a lover and ran his fingers down the side. He would have done this with Ignis's face, would have worshipped every scar and every inch of his skin.

Ignis was right there, and maybe… Maybe he could feel it. Maybe if he tried hard enough, maybe...

“I love you.”

There was a thump from the other side of the door, and Noctis could almost see exactly what was happening on the other side. He could hear it in the heady moan and the sharp intake of breath, the sudden rhythmic thrusting against the door. He could smell it, could feel it under his palms, could feel Ignis’s fury and hurt and sorrow from the other side.

And all he could whisper, over and over and over again like a prayer, was the one thing he had never dared to tell Ignis from the beginning. Maybe if he had been stronger, maybe things would’ve been different.

“I love you. I love you. I love you—”

Tears trickled down Noctis’s face as the moans got louder, but what else was he supposed to do?

This was his punishment.

He deserved it.

"I love you, Ignis. I—"

_I do._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry.


	9. Chapter 9

There’s something about pain that is so visceral that it steals touch, steals sound, steals sight and smell and taste. There’s something about pain that makes it so much more impossible to breathe, as though the entire world’s weight presses against the cracking maw of a dam, just waiting to break.

There is always that creak, that slight sound of resistance, just before it breaks. It’s a sound that resonates in the air, the futility of breathing, the futility of living.

It was more than Noctis could take.

How long Noctis had sat against the door, listening to the staccato of sounds—the grunts, the moans, the sharp cries—he couldn’t even imagine. It could have been minutes, hours, days, years… maybe even an eternity of listening to the sounds of his heartbreak over and over again.

This was his fault. He had come when he wasn’t wanted, came to the dam just waiting to give, waiting to break. He knew what he was doing, knew what pain he was going to cause himself, and yet he did it anyway.

He knew what would happen, Noctis knew. He knew it deep in the core of his very being. He knew what would happen, and yet—

He still had been completely blindsided.

How many years had he been with Ignis? How many years had he depended on the man—no, the boy?

It had to have been, what? Fifteen years? The number sounded so arbitrary, like trying to squeeze an entire world into a period of time, like pushing air through the marrow of his bones. He didn’t even remember a time without Ignis. Every day, every moment…. Ignis was always there.

It wasn’t fair to Ignis, it never allowed him to be free, but…. Noctis had needed him then. Noctis needed him then just as much as he needed Ignis now, even though the pain. This was a pain that he had done to himself, a pain that he had cursed himself to bear. This was all his own fault, all his own making.

This was not a healing pain, a pain that denoted that once it was over that everything would be better, that everything would feel good again.

This was pain that had no reason, no shame, no regard.

The floor was cold.

Noctis wasn’t sure how long he laid there, curled up on the small spot just in front of Ignis’s door. He couldn’t know when they had quieted, when the breaths and moans had disappeared and the air chilled. All Noctis knew was that it had, and now was the time for just _staring_.

What else could he do?

He wasn’t sure how long it was between the last muffled cry and the door opening because in this hallway it was as though time worked differently. It just… _passed_.

“Shit.”

Noctis didn’t even move out of the way—it was the same way he had felt curled up on the floor of his kitchen all those weeks ago, watching as the red light blinked a time that he just couldn’t answer. He couldn’t move, even if he wanted to.

His energy was gone, stolen like the breath in his lungs.

“Please tell me you haven’t been sitting here all night.”

It wasn’t Ignis’s voice whispering to him, so it didn’t matter. Nothing really mattered, anyway.

“Look, you really should leave.” There was a rustle, and Noctis felt hands on him, but there wasn’t even energy to push them off. He didn’t want to think about what those hands had been touching, what parts of Ignis they ran across, what fluids had stained his fingers. He didn’t want to be touched by them, yes, but Noctis couldn’t even muster the energy to pull away.

“He’s not going to be happy to see you. He… he thought you already were gone.”

It didn’t help. It didn’t matter, because Ignis knew that he had been there, and that was what was important.

“You’re really not gunna leave, are you?” the hooker with the not quite right eyes and the nose piercing that never looked quite right muttered, and Noctis heard the sound of something swish against the floor. “You did a number on him, y’know that?”

Noctis knew that. Of course he knew that. In the fifteen years—in the _lifetime_  he had known Ignis, Ignis never had… never had…

“He hates me.”

“If he hated you, he wouldn’t have been crying. He wouldn’t be blaming himself.”

For a moment Noctis thought that the man would touch him, and it even seemed as though he was contemplating it from the way the air seemed to sizzle with an energy that wasn’t his. But the moment was gone as quickly as it had come, and Noctis heard the sound of the man pulling away.

“He’s… he’s one of the good ones.”

It was hard to listen to the man say that when all Noctis could think about was all of the bad things that he had done to Ignis; yes, what Ignis had done was terrible, but Noctis… Noctis had done so, so much worse. The blame for all of this rested squarely on Noctis’s shoulders. Ignis was just the victim of most of this.

What had Ignis really done, anyway? Stole his clothes? Fucked a hooker? How was that in any way a comparison to what Noctis had done.

“Try, Prince. Try to fix it. I dunno if you can, but… he’s worth it.”

Noctis bit back his scream. What did this man know about Ignis? Who did he think he was?

He was someone that Ignis trusted more than he trusted Noctis. He was someone that Ignis wanted to see more than Noctis. It was someone he wanted to be with. He was…

How stupid was it that Noctis wished more than anything that he could be this man, this mysterious man who looked just enough like him to evoke his flight or fight response?

Noctis managed to lift his head just enough to catch a glimpse of the hooker. His face was flushed and pale, and Noctis could see the splotchy red skin on his cheeks. It looked as though his night hadn’t gone exactly as planned, but…

“If he throws you out on your ass, just keep going. This is getting fucking stupid, and the money really isn’t worth it.”

With that, Noctis’s distorted mirror replica turned, shoving his hands into his pockets as he made his way down the hallway.

Noctis thought about trying to make it to his feet, to try to be on the same footing as Ignis when the man eventually left his apartment, but he stayed put in front of the door, just… waiting.

Ignis would need to leave the room eventually. He would come.

He had to come.

But now…. Now was the waiting.

Thankfully it wasn’t long, though it seemed as though an eternity passed before the door began to shake and there was the creak—the sound of resistance, just before it broke.

“N—Noct?”

Noctis looked up, and there he was. The tired green eyes, the frown, the shaking hands and the quivering lips, the permeating sadness…

“You’re home.”

Ignis stared for just a moment before closing his eyes, taking in a deep breath.

“No. I’m not.”

  



End file.
